England's London Bridge, It's Comin' Down
by Hitsu4HinaEva -Hari-Sama
Summary: Song-fic; USUK England's had enough of America's games. So, he'll go home and drink his troubles away. But, will he find himself going back for more?


It had been a very frustrating day for Arthur.

He slammed the door as he entered his rented apartment, throwing his keys in one direction and his coat in another.

"Damn that bloody wanker!"

Unfortunatley, he was stuck in America until next week. He stomped into his kitchen and threw open his old cabinets, searching for a certain something. Something flashed in his eye as he found it. White Lightning. Ah, his good old reliable friend.

He immediatley opened the bottle and chugged as much of it's contents as he could in one swig. He felt heat come to his face when he parted his lips from the bottle and a wave of dizziness went through his head.

Shaking himself free of the sudden pain, he losened his tie and walked into the living room, taking the bottle with him.

"What a twat," he groaned. He didn't have much else to do, so he flipped the switch to a nearby radio.

Immediatley, a loud chanting of words blared out of the radio. Slightly startled, he yelped.

_'Oh snap!'_

_'Oh snap'_

The beat had started, and England had recognized her voice belonging to the American singer/rapper, known as Fergie. The beat had a nice rythym, he thought.

_'When I come to the club, step aside.'_

_'Part the seats, don't be havin' me in the line,'_

_'V.I.P. , 'cause you know I gotta shine'_

_'I'm Fergie Ferg, and me love you long time'_

England rose a bushy eyebrow. Was this about another one-night stand in the club or something? It sounded like it. But, the more he listened, the more he liked the song.

_'All my girls get down on the floor_

_Back to back, drop it down real low_

_I'm such a lady but I'm dancing like a **_

_Cause you know I don't give a fuck, so here we go!'_

England found himself understanding the song a bit more. Not only that, but he found himself nodding his head in beat to the music. What? He didn't _always_ have to act like a gentleman.

_'How come every time you come around_

_My London London Bridge wanna go down like_

_London London London, wanna go down like_

_London London London, we goin? down like'_

He blushed. He didn't know whether or not he should be offended by the use of the London Bridge, or actually... honored that it was used in a song that he found he could relate to. Well, at this moment he could. Why did the American make him so ... flustered? No, wait- It's not like he was in **love ** or anything...

_'Drinks start pourin and my speech start slurrin?_

_Everybody start lookin real good'_

England, at this point, was really pissed at America. _Really pissed. _He ended up taking another long swig of the bottle's contents, and got up and swayed his hips slightly. He knew how to dance- to this kind of music even-, even though the American probably thought he was nothing but a boring old man now.

_'That Grey Goose got your girl feelin' loose_

_Now I'm wishin' that I didn't wear these shoes_

_It's like er'ytime I get up on the dude_

_Paparazzi put my business in the news'_

It was true. Could he not have _one _ damn moment with the git with out having him blabber on about it to anyone within hearing range? It wasn't like England cared, but he wished that America would at least have the _decency _ to keep something private.

_'And I'm like, 'Get up out my face!_

_'Fore I turn around and spray your *** with mace!_

_My lips make you want to have a taste_

_You got that? I got the bass'_

England knew he was fully capable of such. He was capable of doing a lot of things to the twat... Not that he would waste his energy on him.

_'How come every time you come around_

_My London London Bridge wanna go down like_

_London London London, wanna go down like_

_London London London, we goin? down like'_

He had his hands in the air by know, singing along with the lyrics he'd become familiar with whenever the chorus started. His hips swung lazily, as his eyes drooped and his mind was in a haze. Everything he thought about had something to do with... _'America, America, America...'_

_'La, da da da da, doo doo doo doo_

_Me like a bullet type, you know they comin' right_

_Fergie like em' long time, my girls support, right?'_

He went all-out with the rythym, not really caring about what happened to the bottle that was no longer in his hands.

The chorus played for the last time, and the song came to an end.

"Fuck this." he spat, and he grabbed his scarf and wobbled out the door.

* * *

"Hey, Iggy!" _Oh God. _ He could hear the younger nation run up behind him. "Yo, it's been like you've been avoiding me or somethin'."

"Avoiding you?" he slurred, turning around in the same manner as his speech. "Ha! Quite the opposite, ya' wanker."

America blinked, not really knowing what to respond with. "Yeah, you 'eard me! I've been bloody thinking about you this entire damn time! I'm mad as bleeding hell, but dammit, I can't help but fall for your sorry arse."

America looked down at the stumbiling Brit, blue eyes filled with concern. "W-what're you talking about, Iggy?"

"Oh," he laughed sarcastisally. England backed the other into a wall with his index finger pointing into his chest. "You know exactly what the hell I'm talkin' about. It's all because of that bloody _song_."

"What? What song?" England looked up into his eyes, his own filled with lust, anger, and some other emotion America couldn't name. "I've had enough of this, you wanker."

He yanked on the taller male's tie and pulled him down to meet his lips. He forced the other's lips to open against his will, and pressed his body against his.

He soon felt the American's arms around his waist, and he moaned into his throat as he pushed his own tounge down his throat.

Hands going anywhere and everywhere, England's mind took a small pause.

He's mad at him, yet he's kissing him?

Oh, hell no.

He pushed himself back, holding a finger up to the American's face.

_"You," _ he spat, "How come every bloody time you come around..."

"...Your London brige gonna fall down?" the other snickered.

England's mouth hung open. For a moment, he sat there, dumbfounded. Then, after a few moments, he stomped back to his apartment, shouting, "Don't follow me!"

America smiled as he watched England's retreating back.

He'd be back. After all... who else was gonna help him fix that bridge of his?

_**

* * *

Yeah... I actually really like that song. ;A; **_

_**Well, none of this was planned, as usual. Hope you enjoyed my first song-fic!**_

_**~Hari-sama**_


End file.
